Page 142 of The Wrong Sister
“Because you need to be snapped out of it.” Standing in front of me with her hands on her hips and her foot tapping on the floor, she looks like a furious chipmunk. And naturally, I wonder if this is how I look to Ezra when I’m mad.
Instantly feeling my eyes swelling with tears, I start blinking them away. But not fast enough because Bea notices and falls in front of me on her knees. “Don’t you dare,” she orders with a finger in my face. “I’ve let you wallow in self-pity for a whole week. It’s time to snap out of it or I swear I’ll dye your hair green at night when you sleep.”
“You will not!” I gasp, forgetting that I needed to cry.
“Watch me,” she promises, narrowing her eyes at me.
I can’t even squint back at her because my eyes are so swollen from crying. I bring my hands to my face and touch the under eye area and find it puffy. Very puffy.
When my lower lip starts trembling, Bea sighs and crawls next to me. Opening her arms, she nods at her lap. I lie in her arms like a baby. I don’t remember either of our parents doing this for us—we used to do it for each other when we were kids. And right now, I feel like that—a lost kid not knowing what to do with my life.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been crying like that with Bea gently stroking my hair and back, but when I’m done, I feel better. A little freer. A little stronger. A little lighter.
“Look,” she starts, “heavens know I wouldn’t be the first one to stand on the douchebag’s side, but what if he accused you of cheating because he was scared to lose you?”
I lift myself off her. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t. Until it does,” she adds carefully. “Think about it. You told me about his father. You told me about what Jeff saw when Ezra was a kid. He reminds me a bit of… us.” She shrugs shyly. “Trying to act like they expected us to so they would love us a little better, you know?”
When she puts it like that, it does make sense. Maybe it was his insecurity talking and not my Ezra. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but maybe it’s the truth. His hard facade is a shell he created because of the way he grew up. Even though Noah was in the same household, he’s the younger one. Eldest kids generally have more expectations on their shoulders, more responsibilities. Their failures are louder, their achievements quieter. I know Bea had it tough too, but before I left, I was always expected to be married first. To find a richer husband. To dance better so I could appear more elegant. And the list just goes on.
Sighing to myself and accepting the idea of Bea possibly being right, I glance around. When I left Ezra’s office, I called Bea’s number and was surprised when she answered right away. Turned out she kept her old phone, which was lucky for me. I wanted to be strong and just talk to her for a moment because I didn’t have anyone else and didn’t want to burden Jeff with that, but when I heard her voice, I broke down.
She told me she was in New York and gave me her address, asking me to come to her. When she opened the door and met me in her white grandma pajamas and fluffy slippers, I threw myself at her and cried the whole evening and night. And the next week until today.
Turns out, Bea has been renting this tiny apartment with no windows. If I stand in the middle of it, I can touch two walls with my hands. It has a short twin bed, a tiny table, a chair, an itty-bitty kitchen with one burner and a sink, and a small shower with a toilet. It’s barely enough for one person to live in, and here I’ve been crying on her bed, taking up all the space.
“I need to find someplace else,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for moving in without an invitation.”
“Pfff.” She waves me off. “Stop that. We can live here together just fine.”
I smile weakly in return and spread my arms wide, asking for another hug. Hugs can make anyone’s day better.
After I take a shower and apply a bucket of ice to my face, I begin job hunting. Bea has been taking care of me for the past week, and I don’t even know where she got the money from. Maybe she saved it before she decided to follow my footsteps and run away because I haven’t seen her leave this place other than to go get groceries. All she’s been doing is sitting with her nose deep in her laptop all day and night. I meant to ask her what’s going on, but every time I think of it, I also think of different ways I miss Ezra, so the questioning is quickly forgotten.
I also haven’t gone to see Jeff yet. I haven’t gotten out of this windowless apartment since I arrived, so by now I’m probably allergic to the daylight.
Noah called me a few times, but I ignored it. Though, I didn’t miss how Bea’s lips pursed when she saw his name on the screen.
Martin tried calling, but I hung up. He texted multiple times, but I just texted him back once, saying that I’m okay and I’m with my sister, and that he’d better not tell his boss anything about that or our friendship would be out the window. He sent me back an emoji face with zipped lips.
Ezra texted me too. On the first night. His message was short.
I am sorry.
Ileft it on ‘read.’ That was it. Not a call. Not a peep.
I’ve decided that if he was truly sorry, he’d find a way to prove it to me. But he gave up too quickly without putting up any fight. Quite honestly, I expected a grand gesture. Especially when I brought him that permit he’s been dreaming about.
To think of it, the permit was probably his goal all along. He wanted his company so badly that he was willing to marry me to get it back. So when he got it back, he didn’t need me anymore. Even with the damn shares. Which brings me to another question: can we divorce now? He has his company back. That’s all he needed, right? I was supposed to get financial freedom with the means to prove to society that no one gives a fuck about what they think.
It turned out to be true—I don’t give a flying fuck what they think about me. I learned that I don’t want to be a part of them, therefore I have nothing to prove to anyone.
A week later, I have a few interviews lined up for different types of jobs. So when my phone pings with an incoming message, I think it’s a confirmation for one of them. Instead, I find a message from Jeff. It contains an address in Manhattan and a short text.
Come here this Saturday at 8 pm, kiddo. I’ll be performing. I need your support.
My heart flutters. Jeff will be performing. I quickly google the address with the date and find that there will be a charity gala at that time. Will his performance be on the street? So I shoot a message back.
